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I’o an high rnountaine’s top he with them went. 
Where thickest grasse did cloatlie the open hills ; 
They now amongst the woods and thickets ment. 
Now in the valleies, wandring at their wills, 
Spread themselves farre abroad thro' each descent; 
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding their fills. 
Some clambring through the hollow clififes on hy. 
Nibble the bushie shrubs which growe thereby. 
Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop. 
And brouze the woodbine tw’igges that freshly bud; 
This with full bit doth catch the utmost top 
Of some soft willow, or new growen stud ; 
This with sharp teeth the bramble leaves doth lop. 
And chaw the tender prickles in her cud. 
The whiles another high doth overlooke 
Her own like image in a christall brooke. 
How beautiful, too, is Forest scenery now ! But it is always 
beautiful—whether in budding and vernal Spring—green and 
leafy Summer — many-tinted Autumn — or snow-wr-eathed 
Winter. Yet Summer is the time of all others when one 
fancies how blithely Robin Hood and his merry men lived in 
the bonny greenwood; aird we feel more than ever the oppres¬ 
sive gloomy closeness of the thickly-peopled town. It is in 
glad Summer weather that we are most ready to exclaim— 
Oh, come from the city, and live with me, 
Men’ily under the greenwood tree; 
Where the antlered stag is the lord of all. 
And the old trees shelter the squirrel small; 
And the birds are filling the breezy air 
With songs of rapture.—Come with us there ! 
s 
